


fall through the trees, pray with your knees on the ground

by farseandfolly



Series: willow tree march [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bittersweet, Forests, M/M, Mild Angst, forest spirit AU?, not too much though I've toned it down from what was originally planned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 13:48:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11899044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farseandfolly/pseuds/farseandfolly
Summary: 'The trees whisper secrets, Hajime,' His grandfather tells him, 'It would be impolite to eavesdrop,'





	fall through the trees, pray with your knees on the ground

He wonders if his grandfather will ever let him over the fence. 

He spends many a day sitting at the back window, tiny feet pulled to his chest on a wooden stool, staring at the picketed barrier that separates him from the security of the cottage and Beyond. 

'Why can't we visit, just for a while?' 

'The trees whisper secrets, Hajime,' His grandfather tells him, 'It would be impolite to eavesdrop,' 

 

- 

 

Hajime is twelve when he returns to the cottage again. 

It's a cool summer, the sun is warm and the trees sing when the wind passes through them. His grandfather tells him that the spirits are dancing, they are having a ball to celebrate the summer solstice.

He doesn't know if he believes it. 

There is talk of spirits and their haori and hakama, their human-like form limited to the number of leaves adorning the vines spiraled around their calves, of their dances and coexistence with the trees.

His displeasure at the white picketed fence seems to grow as the days pass, it's freshly painted coat a testimony of it's strength, challenging Hajime to cross it, to venture into the Beyond and dance with the spirits amongst the trees. 

It's a good thing he's learnt to ignore it. 

On early mornings, he helps his grandfather in the garden. His grandfather calls him his 'Flower Weed Exterminator', and Hajime is all too pleased to live up to his name and carry out his responsibility while his grandfather tends to the soil. Occasionally, when the wind is high and the trees sing their loudest, he catches the old man looking Beyond, at the cluster of elegant pine and sturdy oak, his gaze filled with longing and sadness.  

'Grandad?' 

'Yes, Hajime?'

'Is everything alright?'

'Yes, Hajime, everything's quite alright. Let's finish up here and go inside,' 

Hajime nods obediently, and removes his gloves. 

His grandfather is hurt by the forest, he surmises, and he no longer protests to staying indoors. 

 

- 

There is little talk of Beyond throughout the rest of his stay, the thoughts of the forest and the dancing spirits leaking out of his mind, until his previous preoccupation seems childish and nonsensical. 

Hajime preoccupies himself with other things. 

He has discovered that he is terrible at painting, but enjoys pouring through his grandfather's field journals, studying the types of bugs he'd drawn and annotated in inky chicken scrawl. 

He has also taken a liking to reading, but Dickens and Tolkien do not hold his fascination for as long as stag beetles and dragonflies, and he eventually returns to the worn stacks of field journals that have come to live underneath his bed.  

During his last week, his grandfather often goes on drives to run errands. 

Hajime is mature and responsible, and thus, is allowed to stay at the cottage while his grandfather is gone, as errands are bleak and boring, and he has several journals to complete before he returns home.

On the Wednesday before he is due to leave, he locks the door as usual, watching his grandfather's blue Ford Fiesta chortle and wheeze down the cart road until it is merely a blur in the distance. 

He is satisfied, and pulls up a wooden stool by the back window, journal number seven open in his lap. 

 

 

- 

 Less than an hour later, he realizes that the journal is unfinished, and is the last one in the collection.

He sighs, staring out the window and allowing himself to regard the garden and white picket fence; still erect and polished as ever. He quickly averts his gaze, but finds his eyes continuously trailing back to the wooden barrier, his fascination with Beyond resurfacing with gradual vigour. 

He will only be five minutes. 

Rising from his chair, he fishes the key from his pocket and strides to unlock the door. Journal number seven lies open, it's pages fluttering in the light breeze. 

The trees are whispering. 

 -

 

The trees' whispers grow to conversation. 

Such behaviour is invasive, much like standing outside the door to someone's home without knocking, staring through the peephole at an obstructed view of their reality. 

Maybe Hajime is not meant to understand the reality, which is why his feet cannot seem to move any further than the rocks that litter the fluffy pine, and why he abruptly turns on his heel and makes his way back towards the cottage - hurriedly, before his curiosity peaks once more. 

The forest does not want him at the moment, he can hear the trees gossiping about the shock of his arrival, and he prefers to return before the news of his attempted trespassing spreads further than it already has. 

Darkness rushes over him in waves before he can reach the fence. 

 

-

There is a boy.  

Inquisitive, much like himself, he peers across the clearing at Hajime, wide doe eyes open, unblinking. 

Hajime should feel unsettled - lying in the grass with a stranger isn't the smartest idea, especially at your most vulnerable - but he feels strangely at ease, despite the dull throb that courses through his skull. 

'Quite the entrance you made there,' The boy chuckles as he lifts his leg underneath his pale blue hakama, and revealing the spiral of leafy vines cascading down his calf. 

Hajime doesn't respond, and instead studies the way the vines seem to curl and twist as if they have a mind of their own. Slowly his gaze returns to the boy once more, and he releases a breath he hadn't realised he was holding in. 

'Hajime,' He introduces. 'Iwaizumi Hajime,'

'Oikawa. But you can call me Tooru,'

'Tooru, the trees,' Hajime mumbles, 'Are they talking about me?'

'Well, Hajime, if they weren't before, they certainly are now,' 

-

 

'What's the deal with your leg?'

The question comes two days later, (Hajime's grandfather is off again and Tooru has learnt to wait for him by the foot of the forest), and Tooru responds nonchalantly, gesturing to his calf with a wave.

'Oh, this is my life span. See these cute little leaves? They fall off throughout my life, and when the last one withers, my human body does the same, leaving me to reside in my spirit form,' 

Hajime nods tightly, counting the number of leaves on his calf. Five. Five green leaves, delicate even with the weight they bear. 

'There better be all five of these attached when I get back,'

'Ah, Iwa - chan,' He chuckles, 'I can't make any promises,' 

 

- 

 

 

Hajime is sixteen when he returns to the cottage again. 

The forest is green, vibrant hues contrasting with mutes tones that mix together to warm Hajime's gut.

It's brisk, nippier than the last summer he remembers, but the sun still shines with the promise of green leaves and light breezes. 

He is no longer placed under scrutiny in his temporary household; his grandfather's watchful eyes regard him with dwindling ferocity as the days pass. However, his warnings of Beyond are still very much gospel, and Hajime tries to listen as attentively as possible during lectures disguised as sing song, sugarcoated tales of long ago.

'Grandad,' Hajime interrupts during the old man's nightly reminiscence, 'Why don't you ever go back?' 

His grandfather sighs and takes a drag of his cigar, blowing smoke like rings out of the window and watching as they fade into the night. They sit in silence for some time before his grandfather coughs.

'I think it's time for you to go to sleep,' 

'I'm not fucking five-'

'Bed, Hajime.'

And so Hajime stands, striding to his room and slamming his door in typical adolescent fashion before hitting his head onto the pillow angrily. 

At night he dreams of Beyond. 

 

- 

Tooru has grown. 

Limbs that were once considered abnormally long, are now slender and graceful, molding into his body without the awkwardness he'd remembered. His hair is longer too, brown wisps above eyes that are not as large, but every bit doe-like as he'd left them. 

'Iwa-chan! You've gotten so big!'

Hajime grins in spite of himself. 

'What about you Shittykawa? You're a stringbean!'

'At least I'm the taller one now,'

'I could still beat your ass,' 

He doesn't expect the crashing hug that comes next, an envelope of warmth laced with petrichor and wood. 

The trees talk amongst themselves in hushed tones.

Hajime wonders if they remember him. 

 -

 

'Oi, Trashykawa,'

'Mm yes, Iwa-chan?'

'Do the trees remember me?'

'Of course, they talk about you all the time, they say you smell,'

 

-

 

Hajime has come to realize that it's far more fun to pour through field journals with someone else. 

He brings all seven to the forest on a Thursday afternoon, and he delights in Tooru's shrieks at the hyperrealistic sketches of scaly bugs and icky creatures. Tooru has never been one for insects, and, as Hajime discovers, much prefers skipping stones or scaring wood nymphs like they did four years ago.

He's glad that nothing has really changed.  

Nothing, except three tiny leaves adorning his calf, flapping in the wind with every throw of a stone on the lake, or with every jump around a bush to frighten a nymph. 

Hajime pretends not to notice. 

 

- 

It's a challenge for his friend to understand the complications of coming to the forest on a daily basis.

Ideally, Hajime would spend everyday (and night) under the bushy canopies, amongst the hushed whispers of spirits and the blinking fireflies.

However, he struggles to explain his situation to Tooru from his grandfather's standpoint, and every hopeful 'See you tomorrow?' is followed by an impressive pout at the undetermined response. 

However, when Hajime does visit, Tooru becomes the physical embodiment of brightness, as though the sunshine peeks through the canopies for the sole purpose of being absorbed by his very being. 

He runs through patches of wet grass, bare feet skipping over roots nimbly and gracefully, sidestepping dips in the soil and jumping over inclines, while Hajime stumbles and tries to keep up. Tooru will laugh and poke fun, but Hajime always finds him waiting further away. 

Sometimes the two sit and talk upon rocks by the river, about the forest and the sky and anything but the life Hajime leads over the picket fence, and the dragonflies dance in Tooru's hair, like a crown upon his head. 

Sometimes he will ask the dragonflies to give Hajime a crown too. 

 

- 

 

He reaches for his hand under the stars, and they smile to each other, their own shared secret.  

"I'll see you soon?"

"Yeah. Soon."

 

- 

 

Hajime is eighteen when his life begins to crumble within his fingertips. 

His grandfather falls ill around January, and dies three months later, leaving Hajime's distraught mother to attend to all the funeral arrangements and debts that he'd had to his name. 

Hajime doesn't feel it at first, mostly a dull numbness that makes his insides hollow, allowing the wind to pass through and out the other side. To die is a part of life, and the faster he accepts it, the easier it will be. 

He says this to himself at night, when the only thing that he can think of to comfort him is a field journal. 

Weeks pass, and Hajime begins to grow out of his hollow funk, the cobwebs in his brain beginning to flake away with the coming of spring. 

He begins to find humor in the antics of his volleyball teammates, and no longer feels the need to crack a smile or an unconvincing grin for their sake. His workload has been piling up due to missed days and skipped classes, but he finds himself easing back into the flow, motivated by the fast approaching exams and university applications.

He constantly thinks of Tooru, of the way he seems to soak up the sunshine, of the way he shrieks at the stag beetles Hajime collects by the stream, of the way his legs carry him through glades so quickly it seems as though he is floating. 

He can make it to summer. 

 

- 

 

The call comes without warning; entirely unforeseen and intruding on Hajime's beloved cooking channel time. 

He answers, and is met with a gruff voice at the other end, who speaks of Shiratorizawa Hotels Management, and agreements upon agreements set to be put in place after his grandfather's passing. 

"This is just a friendly reminder, the removal and clearing of the forested land behind the cottage has already begun, as per the details of the contract, and we urge you to collect your belongings from your grandfather's cottage - "

"Really, we're truly grateful for your grandfather's willingness to allow us to make use of - " 

Hajime has stopped listening. 

 

 

- 

 

 

The highway is secluded at 5 AM, save for a mixed group of middle aged pedestrians who stumble at the side of the road, their hearty laughter and raucous whooping a clear indication of their intoxicated state.

He begins to wonder if they have a reason for being out so late too (not in a patronizing sort of way, but out of genuine curiosity), if drinking is something that is known and familiar to them, if they've known many other late-nights-turn-to-early-mornings when their feet seem to brush the pavement and their laughter bellows from deep in their chest. 

He begins to wonder if they are wondering about him too, if he's being analyzed with the same sort of sonder that only seems to arise long before the waking hours, when everything you say can be as loud and clear as you want, because no one is awake to hear you and the stars and the moon are known for keeping secrets. 

His grandfather used to tell him this, when Hajime would find him out front at midnight with a cigarette between his lips, even after he was trying to quit. 

'I have no witnesses, Hajime. Except for the moon and the stars, and now you too, and I know you'll forgive me,'

Hajime wonders how he always did. 

 

-

Hajime doesn't grasp the full extent to which the forest has gone until he steps out of the car, his breathing becoming shallow as he stares beyond the house into the vast Nothingness. 

Beyond. 

The cottage seems pathetic, covered in a layer of dirt and rubble and tree branches strewn across the garden that he used to tend to everyday, and the weeds have returned because no one's been there to Exterminate them, _he_ hasn't been there to Exterminate them - 

He doesn't realize he's crying until he feels like choked sob leave his throat. 

It's no longer familiar to him, he doesn't know this place. He doesn't know this house, nor does he know this garden, this chipped Ford Fiesta, or these trees which no longer whisper because they know it's time, and to fight the inevitable is more painful than acceptance. 

He doesn't know these men, who casually sit on tree stumps like kings on thrones, empty beer cans strewn like flowers around their feet, their crowns coined 'Construction Hats,' despite the fact that they sit on the ruins of a Kingdom they have destroyed. 

Maybe it helps them sleep at night. 

He contemplates returning to his car, sitting for a few hours and collecting himself before returning to the cottage, to collect the journals, to meet Tooru - 

Tooru. 

_Oikawa._  

Dread and anxiety fills his body by means of a paralyzing cold, and suddenly he is sprinting, sprinting towards Beyond and the sun which he can now see in the distance, the trees not there to block the rays from slapping his skin. 

 Stark white reaches out to stop him in his tracks, as he comes face to face with the white picket fence, it's newly painted coat a testimony of it's strength.

He almost laughs. 

'Ironic,' He mumbles, his face soaking wet, 'You've come to stop me again, huh? Well, guess what, I don't know where Tooru is, the old man's dead, and soon you'll be too, so if you would just - ' 

He falters when he notices the leaf. 

It's attached to the post three pickets to the left, fluttering in the wind that does not exist. He regards it blankly for a second, before his fingers reach to take it, softly bringing it to his face in the growing light. 

_'I'll see you soon, Iwa-chan.'_

_'Promise.'_

 

**Author's Note:**

> back with some more shit  
> the title is from the song 'willow tree march' by the paper kites, which is kinda a more upbeat version of the vibe I was looking to encompass in the beginning.  
> also, this is loosely based off the concept from the film Hotarubi no Mori e (I really want to see but I'm not quite ready for the waterworks) and loosely based off the Odd Life Of Timothy Green haha.  
> (I'm thinking about making a part 2 to type up loose ends)  
> ((drinking game: take a shot every time I say loose))  
> edit: it's almost three weeks later and the story has taken an entirely different turn, so the loose 'based off of' has become far looser.  
> hope you enjoyed! as usual, any comments, kudos or general feedback is greatly appreciated :)


End file.
